


can't buy me love

by wartimelovers



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (just a little dw im not about to say sad jontim rights), (they're both trans my city now), Blow Jobs, Canon Asexual Character, Enthusiastic Consent, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Ice Skating, Love Bites, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Season/Series 01, Tim's Unconventional Follow-Up Methods, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Trans Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Vaginal Fingering, now for the horny in chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartimelovers/pseuds/wartimelovers
Summary: “Isn’t- Don’t you- Well, uh, er.” It was hilarious to watch. Tim’s smile widened as Jon’s cheeks visibly reddened. “Isn’t your method taking people out on expensive dates?”“It is,” Tim confirmed solemnly.or: when Elias gets iffy about expenses, Tim and Jon have to find a way to prove that their statement follow-up spending is justified. And what better way is there to gather intel than hands-on experience?
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 30
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! i finally managed to finish this fic, which i started in may when the title for the second fluff ep was released. its titled expenses for those who are not familiar with it and, to say briefly, deals with tim's spending habits when it comes to follow up. so i thought that.... but jontim. with pining tim. anyway! 
> 
> this fic is tagged explicit as it will contain a sex scene in the second chapter. obvs i cant stop anyone from reading it but id ask and beg minors to skip over it. you're not losing much thanks x 
> 
> i will post all the necessary info (as both tim and jon are trans) in the notes of the second chapter 
> 
> for now! id like to thank rhys, linnea, monika, cat and lizzie for supporting me through it and leaving hilarious comments on the google doc. 
> 
> enjoy everyone x

Tim wasn’t the type of guy to sit and marinate in his feelings. He was the man of action, thank you very much. If he liked someone, he was going to try his luck, employ all of the charm available to him, and try and woo them. God, even Jon’s silly old man vocabulary was rubbing off on him. In any case, if it so happened that he liked someone well enough to want it to become something a bit more serious than a one night stand – and he was excellent at making these happen, no trouble there – then he’d go all out, as it were: gifts, dinner dates, and some good old fashioned flirting. He’s never denied himself the pleasure of trying and the triumph of getting the date. He’s certainly never denied he had a crush on someone. He just wasn’t that type of person.

It took him embarrassingly long to even realise he liked Jon, and even longer to accept it. There was always something so electric about him, from the first moment they met. Tim has always liked him, thought Jon was a funny little man, odd and specific, but cute in his own way. And definitely handsome, too. Tim had always assumed, back in their Research days, that he just liked being around Jon as a friend, something they both needed when Tim was still new to the Institute, and Jon, well, Jon had never been one to make friends easily. It was only when they transferred to the Archives properly and Tim saw how Martin looked at Jon, how he stammered and fussed over his tea and how he  _ blushed _ all the damn time… That’s when Tim realised, hit like a ton of bricks, that he was jealous. That he’s grown used to Jon being his to fuss over, maybe less in Martin’s mother-hen kind of way, but still.

Now, as established before, Tim was the man of action. Like someone? Do something about it or get over it. His crush on Jon turned out to be quite problematic in this regard. He didn’t want to get over it. At the same time, he felt like his opportunity to start something with him had been long gone. Maybe back in Research, had he realised his true feelings sooner, maybe then Jon would have agreed to go on a date with him. But now he was Tim’s boss, after all. His snarky boss who pretended to be cool and unaffected and detached, even if they both knew Tim could see right past this façade. It was all… rather complicated now.

So this left Tim suspended in this uncomfortable limbo, where each day he’d mellow in his feelings and even maybe yearn a little. What his life had come to! Tim the heartbreaker having to check himself constantly so the others in the office wouldn’t notice his puppy eyes as he stared longingly, watching as Jon disappeared in his office. Martin might’ve not been able to help being an open book, but Tim refused to become the butt of endless office jokes. He was going to deal with this, somehow, one way or another, sooner than later, hopefully, but until then… Until then, he had to be careful.

Lost in his help-I’ve-got-a-crush-on-my-stupid-best-friend-turned-boss sauce, he didn’t realise Jon was calling him from his office. It took Martin nudging him to finally alert him, and Jon was already standing in the open door, looking impatient. Tim sighed and got up from his desk, following him into the cramped office. It wouldn’t hurt Jon to open a window in here once in a while and the Archives were already stuffy as they were. Judging by Jon’s expression, this wasn’t going to be a pleasant chat with his beloved co-worker. Maybe this was what he needed, the perfect opportunity to list all Jon’s flaws, just a big old list, and then repeat it in his head until he got over him. Right. Good plan.

Except Jon looked so incredibly cute, leaning back against his desk, arms crossed on his chest. The sleeves of his emerald green cardigan were pushed up, exposing his forearms. His hair was tied up in a neat bun today and he took off his glasses – these stupid things on the stupid chain – and let them fall against his chest. He gestured for Tim to take a seat in the chair in front of the desk. Every honest attempt to make the list of flaws was out of question as Tim realised the immediate thing in his line of sight was the soft curve of Jon’s hip, now semi-exposed as the side of the cardigan fell on the desk. He was in way too deep if the sight of Jon’s clothed hip was making him lose his mind.

“Look, Tim,” Jon began, “you know I value your… commitment to… er, your work. And particularly how… how, uh, thorough you are with follow up.”

Now, Tim wasn’t particularly shy about how he got most of his intel. He figured, well, Jon wanted it done, he always got it done, and he had his fun as well. Nothing wrong with that, he figured.

“You know I wouldn’t dream to… to intervene in… in, uh, hm, what you… do. But I’ve had the unpleasant privilege of talking to Elias about  _ budget _ recently and, well, he’s asked about your  _ expenses _ . So far, I’ve told him that you’ve been doing a lot of out of London runs, but I don’t think he bought it completely. So, my point is…”

He could feel it coming. The end to his perfect plan, no more bisexual shenanigans of any sorts, paid for by the Institute’s funds. Unless…

Jon cleared his throat awkwardly and looked to the side. Tim’s eyes were fixed on the open expanse of his throat.

“So unless you can prove to him that using these funds is of utmost importance, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stop,” Jon said finally and there wasn’t even a drop of the usual self-righteousness in his voice. It almost sounded like he was… disappointed. After a moment of awkward silence, Jon added, a tad too hopeful, “Well, can you?”

Oh. So that’s where he stood on the matter. The cogs in Tim’s head were turning at the highest speed and the evil plan emerged in the matter of seconds. He was rather awfully proud of himself, to be honest.

Jon wanted him to keep using his incredible charm to get intel for the Archives. On his part, Tim wanted to take Jon on a date, just once, show him all that he had to offer, and if it didn’t work out, then fine, he’d attempt to get over it. But he was a natural optimist; it  _ had  _ to work out. And now here was his chance, presented to him on a silver platter by no one else than Elias fucking Bouchard.

“Gosh,” he said in his best worried tone. “I don’t know, boss. My work…. It’s intricate, you see. I don’t know if I can describe it.”

“Tim,” Jon sounded annoyed. “You’re going to have to try and make me get it, because I have a meeting with Elias scheduled in two days and…”

“I didn’t say it’s impossible for you to understand it, boss,” Tim interrupted. “I just think, well. I think it’d be much more efficient if you saw me hard at work. Give you a good perspective on the importance of what I do for you, for this Archive, nay, this Institute. I’m sure you could easily persuade Elias I’m worth every penny then.”

Jon stopped, hand halfway raised to point at Tim, and stared at him for a while, expression calculating. Then a large crease appeared in between his furrowed brows and he just looked helpless.

“Isn’t- Don’t you- Well, uh, er.” It was hilarious to watch. Tim’s smile widened as Jon’s cheeks visibly reddened. “Isn’t your  _ method _ taking people out on expensive dates?”

“It is,” Tim confirmed solemnly.

“So… Er. How would I… How would I fit into that… exactly?”

He didn’t outright refuse, and that was a win. There was a door open, a question posed, and all Tim had to do now was pull the last string perfectly.

This, when it came to Jon, meant promising a little of a spy-esque adventure and a bit of mystery. Dramatic sod, he couldn’t ever resist the pressing need to  _ know _ , to see for himself.

“Right, it’s not always a date, you know. Some people are immune to my charms in that field, some people don’t really do the dating bit, but I usually can get them to agree to come if there’s a group outing. That’s where you come in,” he said conspiratorially and cringed internally right after. Might have been a tad too much in the spy adventure area.

Jon’s eyes had a certain spark to them, one Tim hasn’t seen much of these days. Maybe not too much, then.

“We can go together, then, always less suspicious if I show up with a friend, right?” he continued. “And you can ask them their own questions, too. Your own personal day in the life of an archival assistant.”

“I don’t know, Tim…”

“Come on,” Tim replied, dragging out the vowels. He knew it was the last attempt to seem proper; Jon wanted to come, too. Tim shifted, only now noticing he moved to sit on the edge of his chair, leaning forward. He cleared his throat. “Do you have a better idea, anyway?”

He knew he was running a big chance of Jon saying something about him finding another way to obtain information, but it was worth trying anything at this point. He wanted Jon so much it made him ache.

“Alright,” Jon sighed. It took all of Tim’s energy not to squeal in excitement. “When would we, um.”

“Tell you what. I’ve got a few meetings lined up tomorrow afternoon. Like I said, mainly people who I’m meeting as friends. And where that’s not the case, we’ll find a way for you to just… hide somewhere in plain sight and observe from a distance. Sound good?”

Jon nodded. Tim gave him his best, brightest smile.

“Neat. I’ll text you the details.”

It was unlike Jon to be late and Tim was worried he had decided not to come. But then again, it would be much more unlike Jon to cancel and not let him know in advance. There must have been an honest to God tube issue or something, or at least that’s what Tim kept repeating in his head over and over, as he nervously kept checking his phone. Jon appeared to be online about twenty minutes ago, which was a reasonable time to be on the tube from the Institute to Somerset House. Or was he taking the tube? The bus was much more of a reasonable option, Tim could’ve told him that, he should’ve-

His spiral was interrupted by a light tap on the shoulder. He looked up from his phone to see Jon standing in front of him, the cold colouring his cheeks a pleasant shade of red. Tim was about to scold him for always somehow managing to dress too light for the weather outside, but Jon spoke first.

“Sorry I’m late, I didn’t expect the traffic to be this horrible,” he said. “Is the person here yet?”

Oh, right. The trick was… There wasn’t anyone they were supposed to meet today. Originally, yes, Tim was supposed to do some follow up for a case, but as soon as the opportunity presented itself the day before, he quickly cancelled and began planning the most important date of his life. It was maybe the most difficult one ever, as he had to successfully charm Jon and ensure he didn’t find out they weren’t doing actual research. At least not before his charm worked.

“Right, no, he’s not here yet, I thought we should be here half an hour earlier, sope out the surroundings, that kind of thing…”

“Oh, right,” Jon said. “And why are we here?”

The plan was in motion. Every step had to be executed carefully. Tim took in a deeper breath before he spoke. He was actually feeling a little nervous. What an odd thing.

“He loves ice skating. That’s why we’re here. It’s important that you take the person to eat or do whatever they like best, you know, a little bribe that doesn’t actually involve bribing them.”

“Oh, I am loving this  _ so far _ ,” Jon muttered, but he didn’t sound annoyed. “So, this is just one person, right? Where am I going to hide, then?”

“Well, I thought… I thought since we will be moving a bit, skating, you know, it’d be less suspicious and way easier for you to hear us if you could occasionally skate by, too. So, we’re going in.” Tim knew there would be resistance on Jon’s side. He also felt Jon wasn’t going to refuse; the bastard cared about research way too much.

Jon’s eyes darted over to the ice rink and back to Tim. He shook his head slightly. “You could have said, Tim! I can’t ice-skate… Certainly not well.”

“Oh, it’s fine, don’t worry,” Tim replied. Without waiting for Jon’s rebuttal, not giving him the time to protest further, either, he started walking towards the skates’ renting point. “We have some time before he gets here. I’ll help you refresh your memory.”

Any protests threatening to come out of Jon’s mouth were drowned out by the kind girl behind the desk at the rental tent.

“You know this is the best option, even if you don’t like it. Watching from the sidelines won’t get you the necessary intel, right?” Tim continued, watching as Jon accepted his fate and nodded. “Now, what size do you need?”

“Uh, four.”

Tim could feel his eyes widen and he glanced down quickly, grinning. The tips of Jon’s ears were getting red now, too, and it wasn’t from the cold.

“I should’ve figured you’d have small feet,” Tim teased gently as he took their skates from the girl. “You’re so tiny all over. Don’t give me that look, now. You’re cute.”

“I’m not c- Give me that!” Jon said and quite literally stomped off to the nearest bench. Tim couldn’t and didn’t want to contain his smile as he followed.

It turned out that Jon wearing skates was like a baby calf learning how to walk. He wasn’t particularly graceful without them on, either, but he managed as much as walking around without falling or tripping most of the time. There was something incredibly sweet to Tim about watching Jon stand up with the unshaken confidence of a man with years of experience with ice-skating, only to wobble and almost fall flat on his face immediately if it wasn’t for Tim’s hand on his forearm. Jon gave him a grateful look and didn’t say anything more when Tim stood up, not letting go, and helped him get to the entrance of the rink. Jon clutched the barrier hard and looked at Tim, somewhat scared.

“Must we, Tim?”

“Certainly, boss. We must honour and continue the noble pursuit of knowledge started by our respectable founder, Joseph Magnum and-”

“I’m sure he didn’t have to ice-skate, though,” Jon grumbled as Tim helped him step onto the ice.

“Probably not. What a sad existence!” Tim followed onto the ice and closed the little door behind them. Jon was almost pressed to the barrier, knuckles going white with how hard he was holding onto it. “Don’t give me that look. Come on, I’ll teach you how.”

If Jon on the ground was unsteady a lot, Jon on ice was downright a threat to himself and those around him. Tim encouraged him gently to show him what they were working with, and after watching Jon skate barely a meter without any confidence whatsoever, more pulling himself by his grip on the barrier than actually pushing himself forward with, you know, his feet, Tim understood he couldn’t allow it to go on like this. It wasn’t like he was a master of ice-skating, no, winter sports didn’t hold a candle to summer sports in his opinion. Beach volleyball, kayaking, swimming… That kind of thing. But. Any excuse to hold Jon’s hand was good enough.

He stopped Jon’s miserable attempts and skated in front of him, turning around to face him. When he held out his hands, Jon eyed him suspiciously.

“Come on, now, don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he said. Jon slowly raised one hand, grabbed Tim’s, then, even slower, the other. His grip was tight.

“It’s you I’m worried about,” Jon replied, and it didn’t sound sincere, at least not one hundred percent. “You can really skate backwards? How are you going to see other people?”

“Guess you’re going to have to be my eyes, then, boss,” Tim smiled and started skating backwards slowly. “Now, you have to push, just like before, I won’t just keep pulling you the entire time! Yeah… Like this… Good job.”

Jon looked adorable with his eyes fixed on the ice below, brows furrowed in concentration. He looked like he was moments away from sticking his tongue out and Tim smiled at the idea. Even though it seemed like Jon wasn’t paying any mind to it, he kept murmuring soft encouragements and praises. He almost felt drunk with it, this joy, and from something oh so simple… Jon’s hands felt perfect in his bigger palms, and he wanted to keep holding them forever, even though they were as cold as the ice below them. He was about to say something about gloves, but another person skated a bit too close, brushing against Jon’s shoulder, and he fell forward.

Tim stopped, wobbled a little on his feet, but held on tight. He promised not to let Jon fall, after all. The sudden stop pushed them a little closer together, and when Jon straightened up with his help, hands on his elbows and biceps, he suddenly found himself almost pressed to Tim’s chest. They stood like this for a wild second, Jon looking up at him with these beautiful brown eyes, and Tim wanted nothing more than to just lean down and kiss him.

Jon cleared his throat and looked away after another tension filled second passed. He didn’t move away, but if it was because he was afraid or he actually wanted to stay close, Tim didn’t know.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Of course,” Tim replied and was almost horrified at how soft his voice sounded. It was amazing Jon hadn’t figured out his intentions yet. “Come on, let’s skate to the middle there. Way less people.” And when Jon looked up at him, sulking, he added, “Don’t give me that look! You didn’t fall! You were actually doing pretty good just before.”

“Yeah, right.” Jon clearly aimed for annoyance, but his voice was equally soft.

“You were! I think this is all but a plot to have me pull you all the time.”

“So what if it is?”

Was Jon… flirting back? Tim honestly wasn’t sure, as he didn’t really think he had experienced Jon even step near the flirting territory in all these years that he’s known him. His voice was way too soft for it to be a snarky comment, and when Tim dared to look, his eyes had a certain sparkle, one he hasn’t seen before. Whatever it was, he hoped he’d be able to get to see it again.

“Oh, alright then,” he laughed, speeding up, and Jon laughed with him.

They continued like this for a while, with Tim doing most of the work, and managed not to fall flat on their faces. With time, Jon grew more confident. Even though his hands were still a firm grip on his own, he tried to move his legs as well, practically squealing with joy when he managed to skate for a while without stumbling. Well, maybe squealing wasn’t the right word. But he was smiling and looked awfully proud of himself. It was a start.

Alas, all good things end, and once it started to get darker and the fairy lights turned on, Jon pulled on his hands and asked to stop.

“Are you aware of the time, Tim?” Jon asked once Tim safely got them both to the barrier. “You said we had some time, but more than half an hour has passed already, and the person is nowhere to be seen. Maybe he can’t find you?”

Oh, right, that. Fuck. A pang of sadness ran through Tim as he shifted back to reality. He took out his phone and looked at the screen for a while, checking if the non-existent message was there. Thankfully, there was a text from his gym buddy, which he opened and read through. Then he put the phone back in his coat and sighed.

“Right, he’s been held up at work, you know how police work can be, and he’s said he’ll meet us at the exhibition.”

“An exhibition?”

“Yes, see, another thing to remember about my hard work: if they’re hesitant, go all out. Sasha stalked him out on social media and he’s a bit of a nerd. So I proposed going on this behind the scenes tour at the Natural History Museum. It’s got specimens preserved in spirit and apparently some of them have been collected by Darwin himself.”

If this piqued Jon’s interest, he worked very hard to not show it. Instead, he nodded and said, “Well, let’s hope he’ll show his face, then.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “If not, his loss. You know I’ll get him some other way, then, boss.”

“Yes, you always do.”

“I’m going to get you a cup of tea before we go, though,” Tim said as he helped Jon step down from the ice. Before Jon could protest, he quickly added, “Oh, don’t even start, you’re shaking all over. I should be getting you a warmer coat instead of tea, really.”

“Okay, okay, fair enough,” Jon laughed and held up his hands in sign of surrender. “A cup of tea would be lovely, actually. Thank you, Tim.”

“You got it.”

They returned their skates and Tim led them through the courtyard to a very nice, cosy café in the south east part of Somerset House. The tea was exceptional, and they drank in comfortable silence, perched up on tall stools in front of a big window overlooking the courtyard, the big tree and the ice rink. Once they had finished and Jon looked like he wasn’t about to drop dead from prolonged exposure to extreme cold, Tim led them to the nearest tube station.

The platform was packed with people, mainly tired university students and odd middle-aged businessmen here and there. The first train which arrived was already filled almost completely and only a few people at the front of the platform got to get in. When Tim and Jon finally managed to squeeze on board, Tim ended up with his back pressed to the glass and Jon in front of him, much more in his personal space than he’s possibly ever been. The other passengers kept pouring in from the platform and finally Jon couldn’t really justify standing that much apart from him anymore. He stepped in closer, their chests almost pressed together in the crowd. Tim’s heart was beating wildly, and he hoped Jon couldn’t hear how his breaths came out quicker and more shallow than usual over the chatter and the sounds of the train moving. It was only a few stops after all. He noticed Jon twisting his arm uncomfortably, trying to hold onto the handrail that was almost out of his reach as the train came to a stop at the next station.

“Here,” Tim said, almost whispered, really, as he moved Jon’s hand from the handrail to the front of his coat. “Just hold on tight. You know I won’t let you fall.”

“I know,” Jon replied, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you.”

They didn’t talk much more during the rest of the ride and even though the train emptied a little bit after a while, Jon didn’t move back or take his hand away. The train rolled into South Kensington tube station and they let themselves be carried by the crowd of chattering tourists right to the steps of the Natural History Museum.

This next step was going to be tricky. Tim knew Jon would insist on waiting for the person to show up; after all, he still believed they were here to investigate. He just hoped that the promise of specimens and access to the backrooms and records of the research facility would be enough to distract Jon long enough he’d forget to ask the tricky questions.

It worked, more or less. When the tour guide announced that the tour was to begin in five minutes, and the person, of course, was nowhere to be seen, Jon looked up at him, genuinely worried. But as soon as the guide began to explain the structure of the tour, Tim observed as Jon’s attention shifted, and he seemed to forget all about their investigation.

Now, Tim had no interest whatsoever in fossils or specimens preserved in spirit. To be quite honest, they were a little creepy. The backrooms were somehow even more stuffy than the Archives and the shelves filled with jars stretched on forever. Jon was completely immersed in it, though. It looked a bit like he wanted to take out a notebook and start writing down the most interesting facts, but Tim knew the bastard had excellent memory anyway.

It was a bizarre experience. If the police officer had really been invited, and it was him Tim was here with, he would without a doubt hate every waking second of it. It was vital to take people somewhere they would enjoy themselves if he wanted to get information out of them, of course, but usually a posh restaurant and a bottle of expensive wine did the trick. That was his realm, after all, one where he could use his charm to get what he needed and have a blast while doing it, too. There was nothing sexy or fun about staring into the unmoving eyes of a preserved lizard, but Tim found himself trying his best to listen to the guide. He knew Jon would want to talk about it later. And again, Tim wanted to, even though he’d never in his whole life wanted to talk about preserved dead animals. Seeing Jon this happy, so content and excited in his own way, it was worth all the trouble.

The tour finally came to an end and Tim waited politely, zoning out a bit, while Jon engaged in what could only be described as a heated discussion with the tour guide. It was quite unbelievable he hasn’t been found out yet. With a tinge of sadness, he thought that maybe Jon hasn’t been out somewhere fun in so long he didn’t care to look for his schemes. They used to go out much more back in Research, cheap kebab joints and silly films they could narrate and make fun of, theatre on Jon’s birthday, that kind of thing. Now, after they had transferred to the Archives, Jon was constantly busy, and if he wasn’t busy then he was stressed, too stressed to come out with his friend, apparently. Tim tried not to be bitter, thinking about it. Be a good, supportive friend. But he missed what they had like nothing else in the world.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the tour guide giving Jon his number as he said his goodbyes and left to guide the next tour. Tim couldn’t help but feel a little jealous, cheeks burning as he watched Jon fold the piece of paper and put it in his shirt pocket. Not that he was intimidated by that guy; who knows, really, maybe he just wanted to talk fossils. In any case, the last part of the plan – the dinner date – had to go perfectly. When Jon turned around to face him, eyes bright and smiling softly, the guide and his phone number were immediately forgotten.

“Sorry I got so, ah, preoccupied,” Jon said, a bit shy, so unlike the way he usually was at work. “Did you get to talk to him, then?”

“He didn’t show in the end,” Tim replied. He felt a little bad when Jon’s face visibly dropped. “Don’t worry, boss, it’s alright. He’s a hard one to track down. It’s for the, uh, for the Armstrong statement? Officer Campbell?”

“Oh, right, you’ve said.”

Suddenly awkward silence stretched between them for a minute longer. Jon fidgeted nervously, looking almost as if he was trying to figure out the way to prolong their meeting but didn’t really know how. Tim fought the sappy smile threatening to take over his face and decided to help him along.

“I was thinking,” he said casually, even though he could hear his heartbeat drumming in his ears, “we could go grab something to eat. Granted, there isn’t any more follow up to do, but I could still show you a few tricks I use. Prove how vital my work is.”

Even though his behaviour didn’t really suggest he’d refuse now, old habits die hard. He was prepared for Jon to fight back a little in their usual way, Tim leaning in, Jon leaning back, but he didn’t, not really. Tim’s earlier suspicion was correct – Jon had been looking for a reason to stay, to keep this going. The invitation has been extended; the ball was now in his court.

Jon smiled, a little shy. “Yes, I rather think I need a little more convincing.”

Tim had picked out the restaurant in advance, even though when Jon asked where they were going to eat, he acted as if he came up with it on the spot. He didn’t really know why he felt the need to keep up with this charade, this act of a cool aloof guy who knew little cosy Italian places just like that, off the top of his head, and definitely didn’t take forty-five minutes sitting in cold water in his bathtub researching them. It was, put plain and simple, quite ridiculous of him – he had known Jon for years now and Jon  _ knew  _ him, probably even better than anyone else at the moment. He wondered if it was obvious, the façade. If Jon could tell.

That was what came with knowing someone for so long, wasn’t it? Tim knew the signs of Jon’s approaching headache as well as if it was his own. Jon could toe the fine line between friendly bullying and actually being mean or insensitive like no one else as far as Tim was concerned. People back in Research used to be surprised he and Jon were friends. It used to rub him the wrong way, the subtextual judgement of these people, the unspoken, “Why would someone like  _ you _ be friends with someone like  _ him _ ?”

The issue was twofold. First of all, it assumed Tim as the cool guy. And there wasn’t anything inherently wrong with people thinking of him that way. It was frustrating because this was the  _ only _ thing people seemed to associate him with. Tim the flirt, Tim the party boy, yeah, go ask Tim, he’ll go out with you. To be fair, all above was true. He liked being the centre of attention, he liked when people thought he was funny and charming. It was just a lot to put up with at times, this odd performance.

Jon just seemed to notice more about him. He didn’t seem to care about the outgoing persona that was quickly becoming a heavy weight around his neck; seemed to give him the same amount of attention when the act was dropped. Seemed to focus less on what Tim could give him and more on who he was.

Watching Jon fiddle with his hands in the reflection on the bus window, Tim wondered why he felt the need to bring back the act now.

The restaurant was a small Italian place and he was pretty sure he’d never taken Jon there before. He let Jon study the menu for a long minute, observed his eyes moving slowly behind his glasses, eyebrows knit as if he was considering the most important decision at work.

Then he spoke, “Do you want some wine? I feel like getting wine.”

Jon looked up from his menu, eyebrows raised. “Tim- I mean, should we? Aren’t we still technically- well, at work?”

“Oh, right! Good thinking. We should definitely get the most expensive one and bill Elias for it.”

Jokes. Yes. Jokes were good. Diffuse the situation a little, turn Jon’s attentive eyes and ears elsewhere. Maybe then he wouldn’t notice how breathy Tim’s voice was at times, how his hands shook slightly as he flipped the pages.

“Tim!” Jon glared. “No, that’s not right, we couldn’t possibly— That informant of yours didn’t even show.”

“Yes, but Elias doesn’t know that!” Tim exclaimed, willing his well-worn bravado not to fail him now. “C’mon, boss, don’t be a killjoy. If he somehow finds out, I’ll sweet-talk him like everybody else. Just trust me. We deserve it.”

Jon looked at him, eyes wide open and eyebrows slightly raised, this calculating way of his, then pushed his glasses up his nose with his finger. “Yes,  _ alright _ .”

The waiter appeared and they ordered – as Tim had suggested – garlic bread and a carbonara to share. And the most expensive wine there was on the menu. Jon had turned beetroot red when Tim asked for it in his best aloof posh boy tone of voice.

“The accent was a bit much,” he told Tim when the waiter left. There it was, the spark in his voice when he was trying so hard to sound condescending.

“Oh, d’you think so? I’ve been working pretty hard on it and, gotta be honest here, your whole statement voice has been a  _ huge _ inspiration. Yeah, really, we can sometimes hear you through the wall. They’re pretty thin! And I swear to God it’s just like—”

He shifted in his seat, about to assume a ridiculous pose and imitate how Jon sounded. Then he caught a glimpse of how Jon’s face dropped, the playful smile suddenly lost. Before he could say anything, the waiter arrived with their wine. Watching Jon who was stubbornly watching the wine being poured into his glass was probably the longest minute in Tim’s life.

“Do you think I’ve changed, then?” Jon spat out as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.

“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous, boss, it was just a bit—”

“But it’s different. You never used to call me that.  _ Boss _ . What changed, Tim?”

Jon’s voice wasn’t exactly harsh or anything, but his words still cut through the air. It was his way of coping with rejection that he always assumed was just around the corner. Better make them leave on his terms than wait to be left alone. And Tim would always weather the storm, reassure him patiently, talk their feelings through. This time, though… This time there wasn’t a clear way out. The truth was it was his own safety net, his own self-imposed distance to help him stay in control. A reminder of what Jon was to him now. Of what could and couldn’t happen. And Tim didn’t feel like he could tell him exactly that without having much more explaining to do.

“Well, uh. You  _ became  _ my boss, remember?”

“So what you’re saying is that it’s different now? Tell the truth.” There was such a forceful note in Jon’s voice, it made the back of Tim’s neck prickle.

He shivered through it, averting his gaze. “No, God—It’s just a nickname, I can stop if it makes you feel—”

“Are we not friends anymore, Tim? Do you feel differently about me now, then?”

_ Yes.  _ “No! I swear to God, it’s the same, you’re still my friend! I just thought, since, well, you are my boss now, it would be funny to—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Jon’s voice got quieter, fell flat. It felt like surrender. “I am your boss. Let’s get back to why we’re really here, then. You proving to me that spending 67 pounds on a bottle of wine makes sense in the grand scheme of the Institute’s work. So, go on then.”

Tim had never in his life wanted a sip of wine so badly, but he didn’t feel like it would be a great move in this situation. Instead he fixed his gaze on his glass and tried to think of a way out. His mind was screaming at him, begging him to just surrender and let himself have a pathetic little go at himself for ruining his chance, but he decided he wasn’t going to give up this easily. He knew Jon wasn’t right here – bursting out like this at the smallest thing instead of addressing his issues directly. But Tim wasn’t exactly being truthful either, which made for a very difficult space to navigate.

“What do you do, then, hm? That I so badly needed to see to properly understand?” Now Jon’s voice was dancing on the verge of mocking Tim’s way of talking. But he mostly just sounded tired. Tim thought he would’ve probably preferred the mocking.

And then he remembered what he did. Realisation hit him like a bucket of cold water, and he stirred in his seat, dead set on coming up with some cheesy pick-up lines and jokes straight out a bad workplace romcom. Sell that as his technique. The embarrassment was preferred to the hurt he might’ve caused Jon with the truth.

He opened his mouth, not sure yet about what he was going to say, exactly, but Jon was quicker.

“Just don’t lie to me anymore, please.”

The waiter arrived with their carbonara, on one plate with two forks, as instructed, and set it in the middle of the table. Tim looked down to notice the garlic bread was already there. Must have been for some time. The whole idea felt odd now, in the light of their snap exchange. And to think just a few minutes ago he was wondering if he’d get to feed Jon some pasta. Maybe hold his hand across the table. Guess the answer was obvious now.

“Okay, but please let me tell the whole story, yeah? And promise you won’t get mad.”

“I can’t promise that—”

“Okay, then just let me tell it all and then decide if you wanna be mad. Yeah?”

Jon simply nodded. He looked like he was wearing an ill-fitting mask of his own face.

Tim sighed. “Right. So, um. When I take people out for dinner, and you need to remember I do it so they’ll reveal sensitive information to me, I need something to steer the conversation on the right track. And it needs to look casual, normal. So sometimes I, uh, I—” Tim was aware he was fidgeting with his fingers, open, vulnerable to an attack. He decided to speed the process up. “I’ll tell them a story about my workplace. And you know how people like to bitch about where they work. And about their bosses. So I want to keep it relatable. And I will—God. I will tell them a story of the ‘Hey, look what my annoying boss did last week!’ kind and hope it will make them open up about their workplace. And then, uh, and then go from… there.”

Jon’s expression was unreadable. It felt like Tim had time-travelled back to when he started in Research and tried so desperately to get Jon to open up and let him have lunch with him every other day.

“So that means,” he started slowly, quietly, “you just tell strangers how much I piss you off? That’s your technique? This must be a joke, Tim, because if you brought me here to—”

“No! I swear, please, I swear they’re mostly made up! Something I’d seen on TV or just my own ideas. Just a small percentage, you have to believe me here, just a tiny little bit is actually based on what you do, and God knows none of that is even annoying! Should pay me more for all the creative work I put in, really, trying to turn the cute way you talk about what needs to be done into something actually annoying—”

“Hold on. Cute?”

Shit. Okay. There was a solid chance his friendship with Jon was ruined anyway, so he might as well come clean. Now or never. Channel that reckless spirit you so love to pretend to be, Stoker, he thought as he steadied himself, gripping the edge of the table. The pasta was surely cold by now.

“Yes, God, cute. You are so adorable it drives me mad sometimes. In not so many words, I’ve got it bad for you, b— Jon. And it’s so stupid because I think I always have, in some way, felt like this about you, and now it’s—Now that I’ve finally realised it’s no use because—Uh, well. You know. But there it is. So.”

Jon sat in silence for a while, staring intensely at the food between them. He didn’t look up when he finally spoke. “I need a cigarette.” And he was out of the booth faster than Tim could say anything to stop him.

Feeling helpless, Tim waved the nearest waiter over and asked for the food and the rest of the wine to be packed up to go. If he just potentially ruined the best relationship in his life, he might as well indulge on some reheated pasta and overpriced wine. The nervous tapping of his fingers and Jon’s earlier dramatic exit, which the waiter had surely seen, ensured that the process of settling the bill and packing up went quickly, and then Tim was out of there, two coats slung over his arm, clutching the takeaway boxes so hard he was worried they might explode.

He worried Jon might’ve just taken off. Jumped on the next bus and went home, his coat long forgotten. It would be his style. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave when he saw his friend’s small form, hunched over on the nearby bench, shivering as he brought a cigarette to his lips. Tim rushed to him, putting down the boxes quickly and dropping both coats over Jon’s shoulders. Then he sat down next to him, unsure what to do next, what to say.

To his surprise, Jon handed him the cigarette. It used to be their habit in Research. Tim didn’t smoke, not really, wouldn’t say no to one if he was drunk and that was the vibe, but on his own, well, he just wouldn’t. But when he first met Jon in Research, Jon used to smoke more than he did now. Every now and then he’d get up quietly from his desk and put on an extra layer, since he was always cold, no matter the actual weather, and go outside the Institute, just a few yards from the gate. This would become their little spot, hidden from the view of Londoners hurrying up and down the street. Their little spot, yes, because Tim would always follow him out, first few times to Jon’s great surprise, especially when he had learned Tim didn’t smoke. But Tim suspected he appreciated the company, in his own way, and with time, he didn’t really remember how, sharing a single cigarette would become a habit. Jon would light up and inhale deeply, hand it over to Tim, fingers brushing over his slightly, and Tim would watch Jon exhale as he took a puff, fascinated. The smell and the taste always eluded him. There were more important things to focus on.

In any case, that was their little ritual. Whether or not Jon meant it now, or if it was just the force of habit, Tim felt warmth wash over him, even though it was tainted with regret and anxiety. He brought the cigarette up to his lips and inhaled deeper than he usually would. He suppressed the need to wince or cough – he hasn’t had one in a long time – as he handed it back and exhaled the smoke slowly.

“Listen, Jon, I should say that I’m sorry if—”

Jon exhaled even though he just took a puff. “Did you mean what you said?”

“About…?”

“About your feelings. For me.”

“Yes,” Tim sighed. He rubbed at his temples. “But it doesn’t have to change anything between us, I swear—”

Jon handed him the cigarette, which once again threw him off his rhythm. He inhaled, waiting for Jon to speak up.

“If I wasn’t your boss, but just a normal date, research or not, what would you do next?” He still wasn’t looking at Tim, but there was something akin to a smile in his voice. “What’s Tim Stoker’s closing move?”

“Uh, this is embarrassing,” Tim said as he handed the cigarette back. “I don’t really… have any? If I think they like me and I like them, I might suggest we continue the fun at mine, have some more wine. Usually I’ll wait for them to give me a sign. Don’t want to presume and all.”

Jon exhaled and threw the butt of the cigarette into the bin next to the bench. For the first time in ages, he looked at Tim, just a quick sideway glance, really.

“We do have some wine left. Barely got to taste it, if I’m honest.”

Tim wasn’t sure how to respond. He was aware he probably looked silly, just staring at Jon like this.

“Does this mean…?”

Jon finally turned to face him. “Ask me.”

Tim huffed out something akin to disbelieving laughter. “Come home with me, Jon. Please.”

Jon smiled. “Gladly.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before we get started!  
> ONCE AGAIN, minors, im begging you, skip over the porn. thank you. 
> 
> to make it easier: if you wanna skip the porn bit, i'd suggest you stop reading around the time jon says "Bedroom?" and its safe to continue from "Come on, let's get cleaned up". hope that's helpful.
> 
> jon's asexuality is discussed and acknowledged in the text. if there is anything i should improve, let me know.
> 
> terms used for tim: cock, hole, slit, opening, chest
> 
> jon's equipment is not discussed at all. all i say is chest. 
> 
> disclaimer: i am not transmasc, however i wish to provide for my friends who are. this was written with wonderful and patient guidance from tumblr user moetshander (whom i love dearly). while i understand one person doing a beta for me and giving their approval isnt reflective of the community at large, i think its safe to say ive tried writing it as respectfully as i possibly can. if theres anything that needs improvement, any constructive criticism or advice, feel free to message or DM me on tumblr (hotjonrights) or here if you'd like. okay thnaks. now enjoy

Jon was quiet on the way back, looking out of the car’s window almost the whole trip to Tim’s flat. Tim willed himself not to jump to conclusions, not to imagine that Jon maybe changed his mind or that he had somehow misinterpreted the situation. Jon remained quiet when Tim opened the car door for him (although he sent him a soft, grateful smile) and all the way up to Tim’s flat.

Tim had fantasised about this exact situation so many times in his life. There was no room for hesitation now. He opened the door and let Jon come in first.

As Jon went into the kitchen to put the takeaway boxes and the wine in the fridge, Tim took in the state of his living room and wished he would’ve had planned ahead. Truth was, not even in his wildest dreams did he expect the night to go like it did, though. Inviting Jon out like that was a long shot in itself, he thought as he tried to sort his couch out quickly. He had hoped for a nice evening together, just like back in Research, some fuel for his silly schoolboy crush. Definitely did not think Jon would come back to his, and certainly he did not consider the possibility of… He stopped himself there. Better not be presumptuous.

The feeling of Jon’s hands on his waist didn’t help with that. Tim straightened out slowly, fitting himself into Jon’s embrace. At this point, the almond smell that seemed to follow Jon everywhere felt less like a perfume he used and became something so inherent to his person. Tim breathed it in, letting his eyes close, as he focused on the feeling of Jon’s nose pressed to his back, his wandering hands tracing lines on his belly.

“Jon?” he asked softly, unsure.

“Turn around?” Came back the reply.

Almost without breaking their embrace, Tim did as was asked of him. He looked down at Jon, taking in the incredible closeness, his soft smile, the trust in his eyes. Still, he hesitated. It felt like a big step, after years of wishing for it to be true, he couldn’t bring himself to lean down and kiss him.

Jon let out a small  _ tsk _ . “You have just spent the entire evening trying to convince me your charm is vital to the Institute’s survival. I’m not sure I see it? Going to have to tell Elias on Monday that—”

“Please, don’t mention Elias now,” Tim interrupted and leaned down, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss.

He had fantasised about this moment so much, yet he never really pinned down how he thought Jon would kiss. Maybe that was as well, because he was pretty sure his best imagination wouldn’t ever come close to the real deal. Jon kissed him back with force, pushing his face up and his body into Tim’s, coming in close, leaving no space between them. He wasted no time, really, opening his mouth soon enough, letting Tim in.

They kissed like that for a while, hungry and urgent, with Tim half-sat on the back of the couch, Jon bracketing his thighs with his legs. It couldn’t have been the most comfortable position, given how much smaller and thinner he was than Tim, yet still Tim was surprised when he pulled back, cheeks rosy, panting, and asked, “Bedroom?”

Tim simply nodded, scooping him up in less than a smooth motion, but soon enough Jon had his legs wrapped around his waist, and he was carrying him down the corridor, into his bedroom. The red neon was still on, giving the room a faint glow, so he didn’t bother with the light. It was better this way, anyway. It wasn’t as messy as the living room had been, but there was definitely room for improvement.

Jon had seen the neon before. As per usual, he scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tim sing-sang. “Now’s not the time.”

“To bully you for your bad taste? There’s always time for that, Tim.”

In lieu of a response, Tim dropped him onto his back on the bed, relishing in the gasp that escaped Jon’s lips. He wasted no time, taking his shirt off quickly, letting it drop to the floor. He climbed onto the bed, straddling Jon’s hips, but still leaving enough space for him to wiggle out from underneath him if he wanted to. Jon was fumbling with the buttons of his own shirt and Tim leaned down to help with that. Soon enough the shirt was gone, and Tim leaned down again to kiss his neck, a trail of wet, quick kisses, coming down to his collarbones. Jon moaned loudly when he started sucking and biting in one particular spot, just above his right nipple, teasing, and then something clicked in Tim’s hazy mind. He straightened up a little so he could have a clear view of Jon’s face.

“Why did you stop?” Jon almost whined. He sounded so genuine Tim wished for nothing more to just be able to return to the task at hand. But he had to ask.

They had talked about Jon’s relationship with sex once before, but it was a long time ago, over a bottle of wine at that. Tim just felt like he needed to make sure.

“I just wanted to make sure it was all okay,” he whispered, looking slightly to the left. “Given, you know, your—”

“Tim,” Jon said, pushing himself up on his elbows. The tone of his voice commanded Tim to look at his face again. “It’s… complicated. I don’t ever particularly feel the need for sex. I don’t understand how people can pick someone up in a bar and just have a one-night stand. And it’s not like, uhm. It’s not like I particularly care for  _ this _ myself, but I like to see people I… care about feel good. And I’ve wanted this. I have wanted you for so long. I want you now. I promise I will tell you if there is anything that I’m not comfortable with, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Tim felt lightheaded. “Just… keep me updated?”

“Will do.” Jon smiled. “For now, though. For now all I want is to make you feel good.”

That was easier to comprehend. Tim obediently climbed off Jon’s lap and stood in front of the bed as Jon scrambled onto his knees. He wasn’t sure what to expect but Jon’s long, thin fingers fumbling with his belt and pulling his trousers down was certainly a nice surprise. Jon didn’t bother with formalities. Once he won the battle with the belt, he pulled down both his trousers and pants, leaving him completely exposed, and allowed Tim to step out of them. Then he gestured for him to lie down.

Sex wasn’t something Tim would get nervous about. He knew what he liked, and he was usually pretty sure he knew how to make other people feel good. Settling down on his unmade bed, scrambling up for a pillow to prop himself up with, he felt unsure. Not about the act, just because Jon was a bit of an enigma, now more than ever. Still, Tim trusted him with this.

Jon apparently intended to waste no time on his end. He kissed down Tim’s stomach, messy and quick kisses, all the way down to his navel. He stopped there briefly, looking up through his long lashes, clearly asking permission. Tim groaned at the sight of him and nodded his head quickly.

He was so hard it almost ached. The first experimental lick Jon gave to his cock was electrifying, bordering on almost too much. Without further teasing, he took him in his mouth, suckling, as his hands wandered from Tim’s trembling thighs upwards, first over his belly, then up to his nipples. Tim moaned in surprise when he felt Jon pinch one; his hips came off the bed, chasing the pleasure Jon was giving him.

He almost whined when Jon took his mouth off his cock, instead shuffling lower, quickly and eagerly licking up his slit and then taking his cock in his mouth again briefly, letting the sensation almost develop and then take it away. Who knew Jon would be such a tease?

Jon licked a stripe up again, teasing briefly around his hole, and Tim moaned, hands scrambling to keep his head where he wanted him, but Jon just shook his head and shuffled away altogether.

“You’re going to have to tell me what you want, Stoker.”

This went straight to Tim’s cock. He propped himself up, could feel his face grow red, and then he uttered, “Need you inside, Jon.”

“My tongue?”

“Your fingers, please. I want your tongue elsewhere. Please.”

“So polite,” Jon muttered as he lowered himself again. Tim tensed up in anticipation of his touch, but instead of taking him in his mouth, Jon kissed above, just in the crease where his hip met his thigh. He sucked a small bruise there, moving closer to where Tim really wanted him, but still not giving him enough. He continued to bite and lick at the flesh of his inner thighs, slowly, in the most maddening of ways, and Tim briefly considered begging, when he felt Jon’s fingers give the lightest touch to his swollen lips, parting them slightly and circling his hole for the briefest moment.

The touch was gone as quickly as it appeared and so was Jon’s mouth. Tim opened his eyes – he wasn’t even aware when exactly he closed them – to see Jon sitting up, wriggling out of his trousers, but leaving his boxers on. Even in the weak light of the neon Tim could see a telling wet spot on them.

It was incredible, seeing Jon like this. Tim had always thought he was beautiful in the most elusive, fleeting way, but this was a whole other level. His hair was ruffled, pushed back and out of the way, and he watched Jon take an elastic off his wrist to quickly tie it back. His eyes were dark and deeper than usual, somehow, and his lips were glistening with Tim’s own slick. And to think that he was getting aroused just by pleasuring Tim… The knowledge completed the picture beautifully.

Once Jon was done undressing, he looked around and finally picked up a spare pillow from the side of the bed. He nudged Tim’s hips gently, getting him to lift them up, positioning the pillow below him for better access. Tim almost vibrated with excitement and anticipation as Jon licked his lips and moved back into his previous position between Tim’s spread thighs.

Instead of taking him in his mouth again, Jon exhaled slightly, cold air hitting Tim’s cock, making him shiver all over. Aided by previous experience, he held his hips down with one hand, while the other circled his hole, the tip of his finger dipping in, just barely there, teasing. He licked and sucked at Tim’s cock slightly and then pulled off once again.

“You sure about this? Is that what you want?” he asked, two fingers pressing against his hole, not enough to push inside, just spreading his slick around and onto Jon’s fingers.

“Yes, please, God, Jon, please,” Tim whimpered. It took all his strength not to grind down on Jon’s hand. He’s wanted that for years.

“Okay,” Jon exhaled, smile audible in his voice. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Thank y—oh, fuck, Jon!” The rest of the sentence was drowned out by a moan when he felt Jon take him in his mouth again, properly this time, sucking and licking at him. His beautifully long fingers were quick to follow, pushing past the ring of muscles. Tim could’ve sworn he saw stars when Jon crooked them upwards, withdrawing them slowly and then picking up the pace, all the while his clever tongue was lapping up at his cock.

Usually Tim had no trouble running his mouth during sex and he liked to think it was quite dirty at that. This time, though, it felt like all he was able to do was moan and whimper, broken up only by a half-incomprehensible set of pleading and swearing. What Jon was doing felt so good, his fingers moving in and out of Tim at a fast pace, his mouth consistently sucking at his cock now.

But he needed more. Summoning all of his leftover clarity, he managed to utter, “Ngh—Please, Jon, more—oh, I need more, please, fuck—”

Jon’s eyes were closed when he looked down to see if he’d registered and understood his plea, and his brows were knit in concentration. Tim steeled himself to repeat what he said, with more specifics this time, when he felt Jon withdraw his fingers just for a second, only to press three into him a second later.

The sensation of being full was exactly what he needed. He let himself be loud, showing his appreciation this way, since words were beginning to fail him, squirming his hips to get even more friction out of it. He was close, so close, there was just something missing, one last thing to tip him over the edge.

“More, more, more, please, Jon, I need—”

He cut himself off when he felt Jon slow down the movement of his hand, withdrawing it almost completely, only to press back slowly with four fingers, quite shallow, teasing his opening. He sucked his cock with newfound vigour, then, repeating the slow motion for a while, and Tim wanted to whine, to beg him to quit teasing, but it also felt so good, to feel himself be stretched this much where he was so sensitive. Tim’s hands finally found their way into Jon’s hair and he gave an experimental pull, relishing in the muffled moan it elicited from Jon’s lips, the vibrations exquisite on his cock.

He could feel his orgasm build slowly and steadily, drawing back like a tsunami wave just before it hit the shore. He could tell it was going to be a mind-blowing one, just from the sheer anticipation and build-up of it, and because it was Jon doing this to him. And then, suddenly, it was over when Jon pushed his fingers into him completely. It was such a drastic change, from Jon’s shallow thrusts to feeling so completely full, and then there he was, coming on Jon’s hand and in his mouth, twitching and shaking.

Jon fucked him through it, licking at his cock as Tim rode out the aftershocks. He was right – this was a powerful, mind-boggling one. Jon only stopped when Tim whined and pulled at his hair again, wordlessly urging him to leave his oversensitive cock alone. Jon chuckled, withdrew his fingers and licked them clean, all the while maintaining eye contact.

“You’re unbelievable,” Tim breathed. Jon had the audacity to wink at him. “Come up here, now.”

“You’re so needy,” Jon laughed, but he obediently crawled up Tim’s body, settling on his hips, his hands on both sides of Tim’s head.

“Oh, shut up, Jon.”

Jon didn’t grace this with a witty reply of his, just simply leaned down and captured Tim’s lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. Tim could taste himself in his mouth as he eagerly kissed back. He allowed his hands to slide into Jon’s hair again, pulling at the elastic to set it loose, cascading down Jon’s back. His hands followed, ghosting over Jon’s pronounced shoulder blades, pushing him down, into Tim’s body. He couldn’t get enough of the contact, hot skin on skin, so very real he could cry happy tears.

They kissed lazily for a while, just a touch of their usual playful fight in it, always present, always sharp like a razor blade, but otherwise unhurried, safe and sound. Jon was the one to finally break the kiss, nosing instead just underneath Tim’s jaw, clearly breathing in the scent of him, and peppering his sensitive neck with little kisses.

“What do you want, then?” Tim asked, feeling like he regained most of his brain functions, or at least enough to let him return the favour, if Jon wanted him to. “Do you want me to do anything? It’s okay if you just wanna kiss—Or we could just go to sl—”

“Tim,” Jon interrupted, sitting up slightly. “Just hold on.”

His previous confidence wasn’t gone completely, but Tim knew Jon well enough to tell when he was worried or unsure and trying not to show it. He gave him his best supportive smile and looked up, patiently waiting for Jon to mull over whatever he needed to at his own pace.

“Could you just—Would you mind, that is—God. Um. When you were kissing my neck just before, that, uh. That felt good. So if you wanted to do… that… and I would just—” He gestured vaguely downwards. “I would just sort myself out, as it were. Hope that’s okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” Tim promised. He couldn’t help smiling. Surely he was looking up at Jon as if he hanged all the stars in the sky. Jon smiled back at him, warm and gentle. “Whatever you need, my love.”

Jon nodded, the blush on his cheeks even more pronounced now, and climbed off Tim’s lap, letting him stretch and change positions. It was now Jon on his back, propped up on a couple of pillows, with Tim by his side. Jon had pulled a blanket over himself and didn’t take off his boxers, but Tim saw his hand travelling down his body and disappearing under the material.

As instructed, Tim focused his energy on Jon’s neck and collarbones. He leaned in close, letting his breath ghost over Jon’s sensitive skin, relishing in his breathy moans and the quiet slick sounds coming where his hand was beginning to work faster. Jon smelled of sweat and sex and something still so sweet, so inherently his own. Tim licked at his neck, once, twice, and then latched his lips where his neck met his shoulder, sucking with vigour.

Jon moaned at that, louder than before. Tim shuffled a little, hovering over his body, propped by one hand on one side of Jon’s chest, the other ghosting over his chest, around his nipples. He pulled back from sucking and kissing at his neck, now peppered with purpling bruises, to ask, “That okay? Touching your chest, that is?”

Jon just nodded furiously and moaned when Tim rolled one nipple between his fingers, mouth coming back down on Jon’s neck with full force. Jon’s whole body was trembling, and his hand was working fast between his legs, his hips twitching upwards.

Tim pulled back, quickly admiring his work on Jon’s neck (which he knew wouldn’t be gone by Monday) and then kissed around Jon’s nipple, taking it into his mouth and sucking at it, teeth scraping just so. Apparently, that’s all it took for Jon, seeing as he almost screamed, his hips coming off the bed completely, his free hand coming up to hold Tim’s head where he wanted him.

Tim licked at him for as long as he felt the pressure of Jon’s hand on his scalp, his fingers pulling loosely at his hair, and then it was gone. And so Tim gave one last kiss to Jon’s reddened, hard nipple and scrambled upwards, to see Jon dishevelled, red in the face, breathing shallowly through his mouth. He gave Tim a weak, dopey smile.

Tim leaned in to give him a quick soft kiss and demonstrated tremendous strength resisting when Jon tried to pull him down onto his body like a blanket. Instead he pulled back and sat back on his heels.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up before we get too sleepy, okay?”

Jon just shot him a look, one of his signature “I know you’re right but I’m not happy about it” types. Tim hopped off the bed, not bothering to cover himself up in any way, and extended his hand, which Jon finally took. They made quick work of it in the bathroom, a cool shower and then brushing their teeth together, stealing shy glances in the mirror like they were two teenagers dealing with their first crush. Tim dug through his drawers for Jon’s favourite t-shirt and a pair of warm sweatpants of his, pulled out some clean boxers for himself and then soon enough they were under covers, Jon tucked underneath his chin, his face on Tim’s chest. Tim’s fingers were tracing patterns on his back.

They stayed quiet for a while, just taking in each other’s presence. Tim could hardly believe it still and he voiced this much, voice hushed, as if he was worried to wake up from a pleasant dream. His confession turned into a rant about everything and anything, what he felt for Jon and how happy he was that it was finally out in the open, and only after a good few minutes he realised that Jon was fast asleep on his chest.

Tim smiled, soft and gentle, leaning down to place a kiss in Jon’s damp hair, smelling faintly of his shampoo. He whispered his goodnight and drifted off to pleasantly dreamless sleep soon enough.

  
  
The morning after came about quicker than he would have liked, mainly because he forgot to close the curtains in his bliss last night. When he opened his eyes, slowly waking, it all seemed almost unreal, too good to be true. Jon was still curled up by his side, though, the blankets kicked off. Tim knew Jon wasn’t a light sleeper and, thankfully, he knew exactly how he liked his eggs in the morning. He wiggled out from underneath him as gently as he could and covered him back up. Then he set out for the kitchen.

Just as he was about to finish preparing breakfast and making tea, Jon padded out of the bedroom in one of Tim’s oversized jumpers. It was big on Tim, which meant it was massive on Jon, long enough to cover almost all of his thighs. His hair was sticking out in all directions and he looked like he hadn’t shaken off the last of sleep yet.

He smiled as he accepted a mug of tea from Tim and stood up on his tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips. “Good morning, love,” he whispered against Tim’s skin, making him shiver. Tim knew he needed to get used to that, now that they were together, but he was sure it was going to take a long time.

Jon ended up staying the entire day, watching films, or letting them play in the background as they kissed and kissed. They talked it all through – their feelings for each other, the way it was going to have to be at work. Jon wanted to keep it professional –  _ not a secret, professional, Tim! _ – and even though Tim knew it was going to be difficult to stop himself from kissing him senseless every chance he got, now that he finally could, he agreed it was better to work out sound boundaries now than be sorry later.

It was dark out when Jon finally called for an Uber home and he still lingered by the doorframe, even when he knew the driver was waiting, which was against his very nature in every way. He looked up at Tim, brows furrowed, as if he was trying so hard to remember all the reasons for leaving. And Tim didn’t want him to go either, but both of them needed to rest, and Jon needed a change of clothes. He still had some extra work to finish before his big Monday meeting with Elias as well.

“I don’t want to have to push you out of the door, you know,” Tim murmured against his lips as he felt Jon’s hands claps on his neck, clinging to him. “Go, go now, you’re gonna get a bad review and ruin your 4.9 rating!”

“Oh, don’t even joke about that,” Jon said but there was a playful tone to his words. He leaned up for one last kiss and then he was out of the door, quickly running down the stairs.

Tim missed him already. He yelled after him as much.

Monday morning Tim was at work earlier than he would generally care to be, and he brought a coffee for everyone in the Archives. Sasha and Martin weren’t in yet, so he set their orders on their respective desks and went on to knock gently on the door to Jon’s office. As predicted, an invitation to come in could be heard, and he pushed the door open with his hip.

Jon was sitting behind his desk, clearly going over the papers needed for his meeting with Elias. The sight of him alone, brows knitted together, tapping his pen nervously on the desk made Tim realise how much he had missed him, even though they spent the entire Sunday texting nonstop like teenagers in love.

Tim set his coffee down in front of him, along with a small brown paper bag. He put down his own coffee as well and walked around the desk to stand behind Jon. He leaned down and kissed just behind his ear, murmuring a quiet “Good morning” against his skin.

“So much for professionalism, huh?” Jon muttered, not lifting his eyes up from the documents. Tim could see he was smiling softly, though.

“No one’s here yet,” Tim reminded him. He straightened up and rubbed at Jon’s shoulders, as tense as he expected them to be. “I had an inkling you might be here from fuck o’clock. Brought you a latte and a scone, since I don’t believe you had any breakfast.”

Jon shook his head in confirmation, a little ashamed, and then brought his hand up to squeeze Tim’s fingers, still resting on his shoulder.

“Yeah, haven’t had time… Thank you, Tim.”

“No worries,  _ boss _ .”

Jon smacked him lightly at that, but still smiled. He pushed the documents slightly out of the way and reached for the coffee and the paper bag. Tim sat down in the chair opposite him, usually reserved for the unfortunate souls who came in to make a statement in person.

“Nervous about your meeting, then?” He asked as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Less now,” Jon admitted in between bites. “Working on the expenses yesterday, Excel and all that, previous Archives claims for research and so on... I think I worked out a pretty solid budget. Reasonable. And, ah. Well. You showing me on-the-ground follow up experience will surely help to convince Elias of our budget needs, even if it took us on a wild goose chase all around Lon—Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tim only felt a little bad. It worked out okay. His intentions were good. Still he couldn’t believe Jon didn’t put two and two together.

“Jon. Beloved. Look at me.” He tried so hard to stay serious, but Jon’s confused expression was making him cackle.

Then it clicked. “There was no Officer Campbell, was there?”

“Well, there is an Officer Campbell. He just wasn’t meant to meet us on Friday.”

“So you came up with all of that to—”

“It was just a perfect opportunity, come on—”

“And you couldn’t just ask me out in a normal way, Mr. King of Seduction?”

“Clearly not! You turn my brain into mush!”

Jon laughed at that, loud and beautiful. Part of Tim was really worried he was going to be upset about being deceived like that. He was going to explain later in detail, make sure Jon knew he meant no harm. That he just wanted to spend some time with him and got more than he bargained for. Not that he was complaining.

“You had fun, though, right? If you had valuable information about a paranormal case, you’d share it with me after a night like that?”

Jon just cackled more as he finished up his scone. He took a sip of his coffee, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was still smiling.

“God, you’re unbelievable.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

Tim reached out across the desk and took his other hand. Jon looked up at him, expression soft and loving.

“Then please, love, do your best and convince Elias we need the funding so I can keep on taking you on expensive, over the top dates.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! x 
> 
> kudos and comments greatly appreciated x 
> 
> come chat to me on [tumblr](https://hotjonrights.tumblr.com/)


End file.
